Staying Still
by sakoratay
Summary: So he was doubling over in pain. No big deal. It was probably just a stomachache. It's not like Shawn could be really sick. He could still handle a small robbery case and be back home in no time.     Yeah. Right.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or any of the recognizable characters.

This fic is pretty much patster223's fault, as she asked me to write it for her. Even though it was originally going to be a one-shot, and now is going to have five chapters (the last of which is a shorter epilogue). I hope she likes it. ;)

This is already finished and just needs to be edited so updates will happen somewhat frequently. This takes place probably right after In Plain Fright. And there's some spoilers for Shawn Takes a Shot in the Dark. Thanks to my friend Mia for the beta and generally being awesome.

Enjoy! :)

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He couldn't stop staring at the gun. It seemed to follow him, distracting him from looking at Longmore (or whatever his name really was). He'd had a gun pointed at him plenty of times. Why was it making him so nervous now?

"Now just relax," Shawn started. "I mean, it's creepy enough out here without the whole gun and flashlight routine, don't you think?" The light went right into his eyes at that, and he had to squint to keep some form of his vision. "We can talk. We're just two guys talking, two rational men speaking. I mean, I know what's going on here, and I get it. And it's an ingenious plan, to be honest." He smiled a little, trying to pull back out the confidence that he knew he had locked up somewhere inside him. "Of course, if it was me, I'd just be happy stealing the ice cream, you know?"

Something he said had been wrong. It probably hadn't been his best idea to admit that he knew exactly what the plan was. Whatever the reason was, the trigger had been pulled, a loud bang hit his ears, and Shawn watched, almost in slow motion as the bullet came right for him.

Shawn wasn't quite sure what happened next. The bullet's trajectory was off. From where Longmore had been holding the gun, he should've been hit in the shoulder.

Instead, the bullet, a tiny silver blur that he saw far too clearly, went right into his stomach.

Shawn's eyes shot open, his mouth gasping for air. His hands were tight fists, gripping onto his bed sheets like a drowning man to a life preserver.

_Not real. Not real. Just a nightmare. He was safe, fine, in his bed. Not real. _

He moved his head to the side just a bit, searching for his clock. He eventually found the digital red numbers after a quick second of blinking his vision clear. 3:19 am. _Wonderful. _

It was odd, really, having that dream again. He'd had similar nightmares for weeks after he'd been shot, each detail perfectly clear, as if he was still there. They varied from actually being shot, to being in the trunk of the car, to being held in the gas station. But the dreams had eventually become less frequent, and they stopped altogether after his second little game with Yin and Yang. After that his nightmares had taken a twisted, darker turn…

And why had he been shot in the stomach, instead of the shoulder? Usually his unconscious (or was it subconscious? dream-conscious? he probably needed to watch Inception again and clear this all up) didn't improvise like that. Still wondering about this, Shawn tried to pull himself up, to rest his back against the headboard.

Sudden pain flared in his stomach and he hissed, letting his body fall back so it was flat against the mattress again, his abdomen aching from the movement.

Shawn lay still for a minute, and as his breathing eased back into a calm rhythm, the pain eased, almost going away completely.

_What the heck was that? _

It was probably a cramp, or a stomachache. He _had_ eaten a lot for dinner. He and Gus had gotten a large pizza and split it, with Shawn also following up with a Frosty, the last five inches of Gus's Subway foot-long sandwich from lunch and a bag of Bugles. That, added on with all of his regular meals and snacks during the day, might just be enough to give him some problems. It was probably the pain he'd felt during the dream too, now that he thought about it.

_Not a big deal. Might as well just try and go back to sleep._ He closed his eyes, and after a few minutes, drifted into an empty sleep.

The next time he opened his eyes, there was a soft light coming in from his window.

Twisting his head ever so slightly, his clock read 6:31 am. At least he'd gotten _some _sleep after that nightmare.

His eyelids were starting to fall again, trying to hold on to the last remnants of sleep, when a shrill ringing interrupted his hopes of catching another five minutes. _Gus must be calling me. Maybe it'll just go away…_The second ring ruined that hope.

Sighing, he pulled his arms out from under the covers and started pushing himself up, while his legs twisted to the side so his feet would meet the floor. But a sudden, sharp pain attacked his side with that motion, ending the former plan. Shawn gasped, his arms moving to clutch at his stomach, which also turned out to be a bad idea. Instead of catching himself with his legs, as he had planned, Shawn was caught off guard by the pain, and ended up falling off the side of his bed. He managed to pull his chin up to avoid a full on face-plant, his head missing the corner of the end table by millimeters. His left arm and shoulder caught the brunt of the fall. There might be a bruise there later, but Shawn barely felt it. He was too preoccupied with the throb in his stomach.

He groaned. The rough carpet scratched at the side of his face. For a moment, Shawn just lay there, listening to the phone ring a few more times, an annoying and pointless chiming, mocking him for being unable to reach it and shut it up, before eventually stopping. Nobody left a message.

Something was wrong. Shawn was no doctor, but this kind of random pain didn't seem normal. When he'd woken up last night it had hurt, sure, but more like how it had hurt to see the new A-Team movie (sure it was _okay_, but really, nothing could compare to the original and the writers should've figured that out). It was surprising and irritating, but he could forget about it. Now, it was getting worse, feeling much more like a pro-boxer had socked him in the stomach around fifty times and had left a bruise that wrenched at his gut every time he moved.

Figuring out what was wrong with him could wait. Falling off his bed had made Shawn feel slightly dizzy and nauseous. It was too early in the morning for this kind of thinking.

He needed some breakfast, some coffee, and some time for his senses to come up to full power before he could actually give it any serious thought. And before anything else, he had to try and get up off the floor. An action that would have to involve moving his stomach.

Enjoying a few last quick seconds of peace, Shawn inhaled deeply. He pulled his arms in front of him and started to push himself off the ground, in what must've looked like a very poor attempt at a push-up. The movement tore at his abdomen, making Shawn suck in another breath before biting his lower lip. _Come on, this shouldn't be this hard. _Using one hand to grab onto the side of his bed, he managed to pull himself into a standing position. He leaned his back against the wall and rubbed his hand across his midsection, hoping for some kind of relief.

His phone started ringing again. Gus usually wasn't this persistent. Either his father really needed something cleared out of the attic, or the Chief had a case for them that couldn't wait any longer. He really hoped it was the latter.

Shawn took a slow step forward, then another. It wasn't as bad as twisting his body around. If he kept his upper half straight enough, he could get away with feeling as little pain as possible. He almost grinned when he reached the phone with only a slight twinge in his gut. Shawn answered the phone just as it was about to go to his answering machine.

"Hel- "

"Shawn, good." Henry interrupted on the other end. "Why didn't you pick up the first time I called?"

"No 'good morning' for your son?" Shawn said quickly, evading the question. "Whatever happened to 'a cop can't be an informal idiot if he wants to get any respect'? Or was that just a lie?"

"Shawn."

"If this whole politeness and decency thing was just a ruse, am I allowed to walk into the police station wearing my The 88's t-shirt with the buffalo sauce stain on it and my smiley-face boxers on too?" Shawn knew that he had started rambling, but didn't have the energy to care. He had started rubbing a hand against his stomach again. It seemed to hurt more than help, but it was all he could think of to do for stomach pain, other than medication.

"Fine, Shawn, good morning," Henry said gruffly, and Shawn could easily imagine his father rolling his eyes and glaring at any rookie cops who were unlucky enough to pass by him. "Have a good sleep? No nightmares?"

The sarcasm was clear, but Shawn swallowed nervously, his hand pressing harder against his abdomen. "Now was that so hard?" There was a vague sound on the other end that was probably the same noise a lion made when he was about to pounce on a gazelle. He swiftly changed the subject. "So what's up?"

Henry cleared his throat. "I've got a case for you. I wouldn't bother calling you for this but the guy requested you specifically."

Shawn raised his eyebrows slightly. He hadn't been expecting business. He and Gus hadn't had a case in almost three weeks and Gus would only let Shawn mooch off of him for so long. Gus had practically glared at him two days ago when Shawn had asked him for money to buy the Halloween candy mega-pack he'd seen at the party store. As if Gus didn't love those mini Crackles. A decently-sized paycheck sounded pretty good.

"So what's the case?" Shawn asked.

"There's been a series of robberies at an apartment complex on State Street."

"Dad, State Street's not some little country lane with nothing but a creepy old lady running a rotten fruit stand. It's got to have some of the best real estate in the city. There's probably like a billion apartment complexes."

"The one that used to just be office space and then that guy, Patrick Price, bought it, cleaned it up and turned it into living space." As if that cleared things up.

Shawn began walking towards the kitchen, pushing the bottom of the phone away from his mouth as he groaned and using the other hand to steady his stomach. The slow pace aggravated him, but he didn't want to just stand there in his bedroom all day. "Who's Patrick Price? Isn't that a toy company or something?"

"That's Fisher Price, Shawn. Patrick Price- Oh, it doesn't matter. It's 212 State Street, Gus should be able to find it. Get down here as soon as you can," Henry said, and Shawn could hear the 'don't slack off and show up here at noon instead' that his father had meant by that last sentence.

Yeah, well, he wasn't exactly in the mood to rush around at the moment.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, Dad. I'll see you down there in a couple hours," Shawn told him, and pulled the phone away from his ear.

"I said soon, Shaw- " he heard his father start, but Shawn ended the call before his father could get out the full reprimand that would probably still be waiting for him later.

Shawn tossed the phone towards his couch, wincing slightly when he heard it clatter to the floor instead, and moved gently over towards his refrigerator. Opening it, there were small groupings of food inside. Half a gallon of milk and a jello-cup sat in one corner, some leftover Mexican food, grape jelly, and chocolate syrup in the other. Nothing particularly appetizing, Shawn decided. He almost gagged at the thought of the Mexican food.

He let the refrigerator door swing shut and started opening cupboards, searching for anything good, and hopefully not expired. There were at least four different cereal boxes, most of a loaf of bread, peanut butter, popcorn, several candy bars, crackers, chips and various other junk foods.

The idea of candy and sweets this early in the morning made him feel queasy. In fact, all the food was making him feel sick. The idea of swallowing any of that, the sugary taste on his tongue…Shawn scrunched up his face in his disgust. He shut all the cupboards.

Nothing in the house to eat. He really needed to get a paycheck and buy some decent food. Walking over towards where he'd dropped the phone, his hand jumped to his stomach again with the renewed motion. Leaning over to pick up the phone was another problem entirely, making Shawn groan and stop every few seconds before moving again.

Once he had the phone in his hand he leaned back against the couch and rubbed at his stomach. The pain obviously wasn't going away. Maybe he had some ibuprofen somewhere…

Oh well. He'd look for it later. Shawn had a call to make first.

It was Sunday. A day of rest and quiet time. If Burton Guster had it his way, he would have slept in until eight o'clock (any later than that would be downright sluggish) before pulling himself out of bed and making a nice late breakfast before lounging around for the entire day. Gus usually wasn't the lazy type, but work had been killer this week. There had been two new drugs he'd had to write up reports on, three client complaints to have to deal with (none of them based off his service, of course; his record was spotless on that front and he planned on keeping it that way) and several meetings that would have put the most studious person to sleep. He was almost thankful that Psych hadn't had any cases lately. It would have just made things ten times more difficult if he was running around chasing their crazy murderer of the week. Now he had a day off and planned on enjoying it to the fullest.

So of course he knew it had to be Shawn who was calling him at a quarter to 7 in the morning. He half-opened his eyes and stared at the phone. If it was Shawn and he didn't answer, he might get a few more minutes at least before Shawn tried again. But if he didn't answer, and it was a client….

Gus sighed and reached over to pick up the phone. "Hello, this is Burton Guster," he said, his voice drowsy.

"Hey buddy! So I know it's early and you're probably still in your fireman paja- "

Gus hung up the phone and slid it back into the receiver. He rolled over onto his side and hoped that he was still tired enough to fall asleep again.

The ringing that started up again a second later seemed to discourage that. Gus groaned and grabbed the phone again. This wasn't looking well for his Sunday relaxation time.

He was tempted to just let the phone ring, but he also knew that if he did, Shawn wouldn't stop calling him and the phone would ring every five minutes.

Or worse, Shawn would just show up at his apartment and drag him out to do whatever it was anyway.

He answered the phone. "What, Shawn?"

"Dude, you did not just hang up on me! The nerve! Why is everybody being so rude today over the phone?"

"What? Look Shawn, whatever it is, I'm not interested," Gus said quickly. "I don't want to hear about whatever it is you want us to do today. No escapades out at sea. No wild car races. No shenanigans, Shawn."

"First of all, I only perform shenanigans on Wednesdays, and you know it. Second of all, who uses the word escapades? It sounds like a card game for drunk people. And third of all, we've got a case!"

Gus groaned, careful to pull the phone away so Shawn wouldn't hear. So much for relaxation time. But it would be nice to be able to pay off some of his bills, though he had a feeling Shawn would end up needing most of the money. "Alright, when and where?"

"Some apartment complex on State Street. I'll give you the details when you get here. Come by in….I don't know, an hour?"

An hour? Wow, Shawn usually wanted to get right down to crime scenes, before Lassiter could get a head start on solving the crime. Shawn must be as lazy as Gus was this morning.

"Alright, sure. You want to stop somewhere and get some breakfast before we go down? I hear Mama Josie's place has pancakes that make your taste buds do jumping jacks and I want in on that deliciousness."

There was a long pause on the other end before Shawn's voice came back, faster than before, like he was nervous about something. "Ah, no thanks buddy, I already ate before I called you."

Gus's eyebrows pinched together. "So…what, do you want to get something smaller? Like pick up a smoothie or something?"

"No, I'm…I'm good. Not really hungry, right now," Shawn said, his voice getting calmer now, but Gus could still hear the slight edge to it.

"You're…not hungry," he repeated.

"Not really, no."

"You. Who ate, what, seven jerk chicken sandwiches in two hours just because I bet you couldn't? And then had two sodas and half of _my_ basket of fries? And _you're not hungry_."

"I said no, Gus!" Shawn snapped suddenly. "I don't want to eat anything!" There was an awkward pause, with both Shawn and Gus at an unusual loss for words.

"Maybe we can pick up some lunch or something later," Shawn mumbled.

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good," Gus agreed. "I'll see you in an hour then."

"Yeah. See you."

There was a click on the other end and Gus spent a few moments staring at the phone. Gus may not have been a psychic, or a fake one, but he knew when something was up.

Shawn wasn't a touchy person, rarely showing it if he got truly angry with someone, and even then, there was usually something that had provoked him. Asking too many questions might annoy him a little, but not to the point of snapping at Gus. And why did he need a whole hour to get ready?

Gus sighed and put the phone back on the receiver. He spent another few minutes lying in bed, wistfully hoping he'd gotten at least a few hours to himself.

He was getting the feeling that it was going to be a long day.

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Please review! :D


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hey guys! Thanks SO much for the amazing reviews!

Thanks again to Mia for the beta on this chapter. ;)

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Shawn let his apartment door slam as he walked out. It would have been a much more powerful statement about how annoyed he was if he could walk faster, maybe even stomp his feet a little for added effect.

He wasn't angry at Gus, or even annoyed with him. Shawn wasn't even sure why he'd yelled at his best friend. His abdomen was still hurting, he felt sick to his stomach at the very thought of food, and he was generally feeling weird. But none of that was Gus's fault. The last thing Shawn wanted was for him to catch on to the fact that something was wrong. They needed this case and snapping at Gus like that wasn't going to make him think that everything was just fine and dandy. He promised himself he'd tell Gus about the pain later, maybe even let his friend talk him into taking a trip down to the hospital. After all, pain or no pain, something had to be wrong with him if he didn't want to eat breakfast.

His trek to the car was annoyingly slow. He had to force himself to not grab at his stomach every time he moved, but the pain was just bearable enough that he could get by with biting his lower lip and digging his fingernails into his arm to keep himself going.

This day would have been much easier if he could have just lay curled up in his bed watching the first season of Numb3rs, a trash can in reaching distance in case the nausea spiked again. But clearly that was not on today's agenda.

Shawn pulled the passenger door open when he reached the Echo, taking much longer than usual to sit down and exhaling deeply when he finished. Thankfully, Gus wasn't paying attention, flipping uneasily through some papers.

"Shawn, we're going to have to get at least twice the money we earned on our last case if we want to pay off all these bills," Gus sighed. "Unless you want to just give up cable and electricity at your place and the office for a little while."

"And miss my Cosby Show reruns? I can TiVo the new Leverage, but Bill Cosby needs to be watched in the moment. We'll have enough, don't worry."

Gus snorted and pulled out of the parking lot, sliding easily into the very light Sunday morning traffic. "Where are we going again?" he asked.

"Uh." Shawn thought back to his earlier conversation with his father. "Apartment complex on State Street. Some guy named Price runs it."

Gus gave him a surprised look. "Patrick Price? As in the guy from the 'Save Our City' commercials?"

"_That's_ who he is?" Shawn raised his eyebrows. He must've seen those commercials a thousand times. "The balding guy with the croissant mustache who's always preaching about those kids who leave potato chip bags and soda bottles in the park?"

Gus rolled his eyes. "Patrick Price is a very wealthy, upstanding citizen. This apartment building you're talking about? It used to be a bunch of offices, but it was scheduled to be taken down in February. The guy paid for it to be put back into use. Said he wanted to do his part for the community. He runs the place too, with his wife and his brother."

"Saving one building from being taken down and making a ton of commercials about the environment makes you an upstanding citizen?" Shawn snorted, then twinged slightly as the jolt caused his stomach to twist. "Get me a video camera and a picket-sign and I can do that."

"He's also one of the richest men in Santa Barbara," Gus pointed out. "His family's lived here since who knows when. His grandfather was a senator for the state, I think."

Shawn chuckled, but it was half-hearted. He was starting to feel nauseous again, and was struggling to keep himself cheerful and focused. _Don't lose it in front of Gus_, he told himself. "How do you know so much about this guy? Are you stalking him or something?"

"No, and you're one to talk. You spent a whole week following one girl around because she told you your hair looked really good."

"Dude, the girl was obviously very intelligent. I couldn't let her just get away after that. It didn't matter anyway, she was the nurse in charge of giving shots down at the hospital, and I was not going to get involved with someone who works that closely with needles."

He was rambling now. The nausea was getting worse and Shawn wasn't thinking straight. He held back a groan. "You're changing the subject, by the way."

"Fine," Gus sighed. "My boss's new secretary's sister works as a receptionist at the apartments. She met him there and she's always talking about him."

"If you really want to play six degrees here, then you should use someone a bit more famous, not someone who looks like he left a pastry on his upper lip. Seriously, that mustache gives me the creeps. I once knew a guy who-"

He had to stop suddenly as his stomach lurched again. It wasn't even pain that time, just the sick feeling Shawn hadn't had since he was about five. He clamped his mouth shut, and closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing even.

Unfortunately, this was a bit too obvious to try and get past Gus. "Are you ok?" he asked.

Shawn swallowed and spoke through clenched teeth. "Yeah, buddy. I'm fine, just feeling a little-" Something jumped in his stomach and he opened his eyes wide. "Pull over. Stop the car, quick."

"What? Why-"

"Gus, stop!"

Gus didn't have to be told again. He pulled out of traffic and parked next to the edge of a small grouping of trees just in time for Shawn to throw open his door, jump out of the car and make it about two yards before collapsing onto the ground, retching violently. Everything he'd eaten the night before seemed to come up. His throat burned and the taste made him want to give up food for a good, long time. It felt like it lasted hours, but he finally managed to empty his stomach.

For a moment he kneeled there, doing his best to ignore the discomfort that had been renewed during his lunge out of the car and across the grass, not to mention the damage that had been done to his comfort levels from puking up his insides. The nausea had almost completely disappeared at least. His head was clearer than it had been. It was still a struggle for Shawn to find the energy to push himself up and make it back to the Echo.

Shawn found his best friend with his eyes tightly shut, humming quietly, turned towards his window. He was caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to roll his eyes. Of course Gus wouldn't want to hear or see someone vomiting a few feet away, even if it was Shawn. He probably should have shut the door when he jumped out of the car, not that he had been feeling particularly charitable at the time.

He tapped his friend's shoulder as he slid back into the shotgun seat and closed the door. "Dude, you want to get down to the apartments? My dad will blow a gasket if we're any later….On second thought, a movie sounds nice right about now."

Gus opened his eyes and turned towards him, looking stunned. "We can't go work a case! You're sick and I'm taking you back to your apartment right now," Gus informed him.

He started to pull out into traffic before Shawn grabbed his arm.

"It's fine. I feel better now actually," Shawn half-lied. He might not have been feeling as nauseous, but the pain was definitely still there. "I think it was just all that food from last night working its way back up. Trust me, man, I'm fine to work a case."

Gus looked at his friend closely and Shawn did his best to smile and look like his confident self. Apparently, it either worked, or Gus had realized that he would get nothing out of arguing, as he started to drive forward again. There was silence for a few moments, with Shawn nervously pulling at his shirt collar.

"You're sure you're ok?" Gus asked, giving Shawn a sideways look.

"Stop being such a worrywart, Gus," Shawn snorted. "It's not like I'm dying. I've just caught a bug or something."

"A bug?" Gus started to slow down the car and Shawn cursed in his mind. "I thought you said it was just all the food."

"Well," Shawn cleared his throat. "I don't know, it might be the food. I've just been feeling kind of…weird this morning. It's not a big deal or anything."

"How weird?"

"I don't know. Just weird. Like Weird Science weird, so… pretty weird."

"You got to give me a little more than that."

"Since when do John Hughes movie references not count as answers?" Gus gave him a hard look and Shawn sighed. "Fine, uh…I have a stomachache." _A really, really bad stomachache, _he thought, but wasn't about to tell Gus that. "And I didn't really want to eat this morning, which was probably just the nausea."

Gus's jaw dropped open slightly. "Wait. You didn't eat _anything_ this morning? Like nothing at all?"

"Ah, no?"

"Absolutely nothing? Not one cheerio?"

"No, nothing."

Gus shook his head. "I'm taking you home."

Shawn laughed before he realized Gus was serious. "Dude, seriously. I've got the flu or a cold or something. Or better, yet, it _was_ just all of that food. My stomach is very sensitive-"

Gus snorted.

"-and it probably just made me feel a little nauseous. Now that I've…removed the food from my stomach, the nausea's gone and the pain will probably be gone soon too."

He turned to Gus and smiled, ignoring the sudden pang in his abdomen. "Relax, buddy. I'll be fine in no time."

Though Shawn's directions were mostly unhelpful (he'd told Gus to take a left at every single intersection they came to, and it had taken several minutes before Gus had realized that Shawn was purposefully sending him in circles), they made it to the Price Apartment Complex. It could have been the offices of a company making greenhouses. The lawn surrounding the building was so full of flowers, bushes and trees that Shawn could hardly even see the grass. There were so many different colors and types of flowers that Shawn wasn't sure where to look.

"It looks like the skittles guy threw up out here," Shawn said.

"Come on. We should get this done as fast as we can," Gus suggested. "Then you can go home and rest. Or go to a hospital. How's the stomach?"

"Fine," Shawn lied. The walk to the front door, which would have usually been nothing, was killing him now. Getting out of the car had been a nightmare by itself, and one that Shawn did not want to repeat. Walking was just making everything worse. It felt like someone was stabbing his abdomen with a pencil every time he took a step. He could feel the layer of sweat that was starting to cover his forehead. As much as he wanted to get the money for this case, Shawn was starting to wish he'd just stayed home.

"Hey, look at that."

He turned to see a mob of reporters and cameramen surrounding a familiar-looking man. There were cameras flashing sporadically, and the man was obviously trying not to blink. The reporters shouted questions at him rapidly and the man replied to each one without even pausing to think. He was tall, dressed in a suit and balding on top. However, his most distinguishing feature was his thick, dark brown moustache. The man barely looked like he even had an upper lip, as it was completely covered in hair. Shawn once again found himself comparing it to a large chocolate croissant. This was clearly Patrick Price.

"Shawn!"

_Oh here we go. _Shawn looked away from the press crowd to see his father coming out of the apartment building and approaching him.

"There you are," Henry said crossly. "I told you to come down-"

"Sorry, Dad. Gus's car wouldn't start for a little while and I refused to ride in any other vehicle to go to work. That would just be blasphemous."

Gus gave him a sharp look, but didn't say anything. _Thanks, buddy_, Shawn thought. He really didn't need his dad knowing all about how he was feeling that morning. Henry looked slightly skeptical, but rolled his eyes.

"Aren't these just a group of robberies?" Gus asked. "Why do you need us? And why are the reporters so interested?"

"Because of the guy who owns it all," Henry answered. "Patrick Price is a big name in this city. Anything that has his name on it, even if it's just his apartment building, gets people's attention. Now, after all these robberies, half of the people living here are talking about moving out if things don't clear up, and he'd lose a lot of money that way. The press is all over it. He wanted as many people on this as we could get so they can get this whole ordeal out of the way faster."

"So what's going on with these robberies anyway?" Shawn asked. "Did the guy lose a diamond piggy bank? Or a money tree, perhaps? I hear they're in season."

"The tenants are the ones dealing with the robberies, actually. Four days ago, the power goes out in the building for maybe twenty minutes, and then comes back on all of a sudden. Nobody thinks it's a big deal until one of the tenants tells management that her apartment's been broken into, trashed and robbed."

"Where was she?"

"Out to lunch across the street. Anyway, the same thing happened three more times during the past few days. Power goes out, comes back on before anybody has time to find out what's wrong, then someone comes home to find out their apartment was robbed sometime while the electricity was down."

"Doesn't sound too complicated," Shawn muttered.

Henry snorted. "Well get in there and figure it all out then, if you're so confident. Impress Mr. Price." Henry gestured out to the garden in front. "Maybe he'll give you some flowers," he added sarcastically.

"Only if I can also get the skittles guy to-"

"Where was the last robbery?" Gus cut in quickly. "Just so we know where to start?"

"Third floor. Detectives Lassiter and O'Hara are up there."

Before either of the Spencers could say anything else, Gus pushed Shawn towards the front doors. Shawn winced and his hand twitched, almost going up to his side.

"You okay?" Gus asked quietly.

"Fine," Shawn muttered. He straightened and struggled to walk ahead of Gus into the building.

The inside wasn't quite as bright and colorful as the outside, but it was still very impressive. There were small signs that the building had been refurbished and was really older than it appeared, like the worn out look of the wood paneling in the foyer or how the beige paint was chipping slightly on the corner of one wall, revealing a light green color underneath. For the most part, however, Shawn would have never realized that it used to be an office building.

The foyer was fairly wide open, with a smattering of couches and chairs around the area and a line of bookcases along the walls. Most of the residents, however, seemed to be more interested in the view from the window, as they watched police officers walk around the building and the reporters still questioning Price. One woman was even quickly fixing her makeup with a hand mirror. Probably hoping to somehow get her face on camera.

There was one person who didn't seem at all interested in gossiping about what was going on with the other tenants. A man was sitting in one of the larger armchairs by the foyer. He couldn't have looked more worried about something if he had just been told that he was only getting coal in his Christmas stocking that year. He appeared to be casually skimming over a magazine, but Shawn noticed how his eyes seemed to jump up every time the front door opened.

"Hey, let's make a quick detour." Shawn started to approach the man, Gus right on his heels.

"What are you doing?"

"Just work with me here for a second."

The man didn't look up from his magazine until they were right up to him. Gus casually took the chair across from him but Shawn stayed standing. He was already sweating from trying to endure the agony in his stomach that walking had caused, and even though sitting down and relaxing sounded perfect, that would mean having to squat down to get into the chair. He wasn't about to try and sit down again until he had to.

"Can I help you with something?" the man asked, his tone suggesting that he was willing to do anything but.

"Why yes, you can. My name's Shawn Spencer and this is my partner, Moxie Schmoxie." Gus coughed loudly at this, but Shawn chose to ignore him. "We're here with the SBPD."

"The police?" The man looked them both over quickly and choked down a laugh. "Seriously? You don't really look like cops."

He grinned broadly. "Why thank you, I take great pride in that fact. No, the cops and I run in slightly different circles. Actually, I tend to run in more of a rhombus formation. It's much better cardio. I'm actually the Head Psychic at the department."

The man raised an eyebrow at this. "Psychic? Our tenants have been having break-ins, they're not being haunted. Why do we need a psychic?"

"I'm sorry, do you work here?" Gus asked.

Shawn took a moment to really look the man over now that he was closer. There was a button missing from his shirt pocket. His slightly pointed nose and chin looked oddly familiar. Shawn ran through several faces in his head, trying to find the connection.

"Of course I work here," he said. "I've worked here since the building opened. I'm Martin-"

"Price," Shawn finished. He'd landed on the connection and remembered seeing several of the same facial features on Patrick Price just minutes before. "You're Patrick Price's brother."

"Very good, Mr. Spencer," Martin said, the sarcasm in his voice clear. "Yes, I am, in fact, Patrick's brother. I run the building with him."

"First question then. What's up with the miniature version of those huge gardens in France outside?"

"You mean the Gardens of Versailles?" Gus said.

"Please, Gus. That doesn't even _sound_ French."

Martin smiled slightly. "Patrick's wife, Amelia, is a gardener. She wanted to make the front of the building look nice and help out Patrick, and that seemed like the best way to do it. I help her with the gardening sometimes even. It's all just for show. "

"What do you know about the robberies, Mr. Price?" Gus asked politely. "We didn't get a chance to talk to your brother outside."

Martin turned towards the window and watched the mob of reporters outside. His hands kept picking at his belt loops. "Yes, he is a little occupied right now. Well, I'm sure the police have already caught you up on the basics. The electricity in the building keeps going out, though we're not really sure why. Whenever someone goes to check, it comes back on before they can actually get into the maintenance room. I've looked at the damn circuit breaker a hundred times now and there's nothing wrong with the thing."

"Do you run the maintenance in the building?" Shawn asked suddenly.

Martin sat up a little straighter. "I don't do all the dirty work, but I do supervise it, yes."

"So, you know how all the circuits and switches work, right?"

Gus looked at him questioningly, and Shawn tried to ignore him. Martin narrowed his eyes, but he wasn't looking Shawn directly in the eye, instead focusing on something right behind him, and Shawn knew that he was on to something here.

"Yeah, I know how most of them work. It isn't too complicated though. I'm sure half the staff could figure it out," Martin muttered.

Shawn nodded. He didn't see why his father had needed to call him in at all. This all seemed so obvious to him. He hadn't been in the building ten minutes and he already knew what had happened. In fact, he was completely sure about it. It had to be the shortest it had ever taken him to solve a case ever.

"You must know a lot about the way the building is set up, right?" Shawn said to Martin.

"You helped your brother put it back into use? Could probably run around here pretty quickly even in the dark, huh?"

"I'm not sure that I know what you're getting at here," Martin said.

"I'm sure you do," Shawn laughed. "How long have you been living in your brother's shadow, huh? Never getting all the limelight that he does, but you still get pulled along with whatever he wants you to do?"

"Shawn," Gus warned quietly.

"Shhh, Gus."

Martin stood up suddenly. Shawn had to step back in surprise, his hand pulling up to his stomach in the process with a barely-contained groan. Martin didn't seem to notice.

"I really don't appreciate what you're insinuating here," he said darkly.

"So when my friend and I go up to the last scene, we're not going to find any of your fingerprints in there? Or the button that's missing from your shirt?"

Martin glanced down at his shirt and seemed a little taken aback to see that he was indeed missing a button. Shawn grinned at this, and the smile faltered only slightly when Martin looked back up, appearing even angrier.

"Listen here, _psychic_. I don't know what your deal is or what game you think you're playing, but I'm not going to take this from you. I am not committing these robberies, okay? I am just as honorable an employee as everyone else who works here. I help Amelia out in the garden, I organize the events, and I make sure the building is running smoothly. I do more in this building than you or my brother will ever even realize."

"Sounds like someone's got a few brother issues," Shawn said. "Enough to try and ruin the name of his apartment complex and make everyone want to leave? Or are you just trying to really tick him off?"

"Shawn!" Gus blurted.

"What? I'm just calling out the facts," Shawn smiled. He didn't get why Gus kept trying to interrupt him. He was solving their case. "I still need to go up and actually see the rooms. I'm sure the police will have plenty to talk to you about later though."

Martin looked like he was about to yell at him. Or maybe punch him in the face. Then he exhaled deeply.

"I'd watch it if I were you," he hissed. Martin pushed Shawn out of the way and stalked off down a hallway across from them. Shawn hissed and held his stomach tighter.

"What was _that_?" Gus exclaimed. "You were with the guy less than five minutes and you just suddenly decide he's guilty? What's wrong with you? You don't have any proof!"

It took Shawn a few seconds to reply, clutching his stomach the entire time. Finally, breathing deeply, he straightened slowly.

"Intuition, buddy," Shawn shrugged. He started towards the elevator, Gus following right behind him. "The guy was too nervous. Clearly up to something."

"You don't have to go and say that to his face though! You must be out of your mind, Shawn. He's probably going to run if you're right about him."

Shawn abruptly stopped walking and Gus nearly ran into him. Gus did have a point.

Sneaking suspicion or no, he knew better than to tell a suspect that he or she was…well, a suspect, so early on. Especially when he had no proof or cops around to back him up. Why _had_ he said all that to Martin Price?

"I…I don't know if…" Shawn's eyebrows pinched together.

Gus's shock and frustration turned to concern. "Are you feeling alright? Do you feel like you're going to throw up again?"

"No, no. I just feel sort of….I don't know, off."

Gus put a hand up to Shawn's forehead. "Man, I think you have a fever."

"Oh, please." Shawn started towards the elevators again, feeling slightly nervous. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Fever, nausea. You keep grabbing your stomach, too. How bad is it hurting you?"

_It hurts whenever I walk or breathe, _Shawn thought. _And it's gotten even worse during the past few hours. _"The pain's sort of bad, alright? Nothing I can't fix with an ibuprofen though."

Shawn pushed the elevator button and tapped his foot while he waited for the doors to open.

"I promise that after we go up and take a quick look around, I'll tell Lassie, Jules and Dad what I think happened and we can leave. We can go to the hospital or wherever. But we need this case, so just give me five minutes, Gus. Come on."

Gus sighed and shook his head, but Shawn knew that he was going to give in. "You're rushing this. You've got a fever, you're in pain, you're not thinking clearly, and you're _rushing this_. This isn't going to turn out well."

The elevator pinged to announce its arrival and Shawn and Gus walked in when the doors opened. As they started to close again, Gus's eyes suddenly went wide.

"Um, Shawn?" he said nervously.

"Yeah?"

"Martin Price pretty much runs this place, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"And during the robberies, the power in the building went out?"

"I still don't know where you're going with this."

"Well, if Martin _is_ the one doing all the robberies, and he's the one who keeps shutting off the power, _and _he knows we were going to take the eleva…"

Gus's thought was cut short as the doors closed. They started heading up to their floor. Gus looked at Shawn nervously, and suddenly Shawn picked up on what he was saying.

"You don't think he'd shut this thing down just to stop us from telling everyone else about-"

The elevator jerked to a sudden stop, causing Shawn and Gus to grab for the rails on the sides, with Shawn also grabbing for his side with a groan. The lights went out and a dim, green emergency light came on in its place after a few seconds. The elevator was still and the doors stayed stubbornly shut.

"He turned it off on us," Gus muttered, disbelief and anxiety clear in his voice. "We're stuck."

"Huh." Shawn sagged back against the wall and carefully slid himself down. He pinched his eyes shut and exhaled when he hit the floor, clutching at his side. It didn't look like they were going home, or going anywhere for that matter, anytime soon.

"Whoops."

* * *

I need to give credit to Jenn1984, who was the one who originally suggested that I make Shawn stuck somewhere while he's sick to make things a little more complicated. xD

Reviews and comments are welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N:

Gah, sorry for the long wait guys! Things got a little busy for me for a while. Here you go!

Thanks again to Mia for the beta. And for being amazing.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Whoops?" Gus repeated angrily. Shawn winced. "_Whoops_? You just _had_ to aggravate him. You just _had_ to say that you suspected him. Now we're stuck!"

Gus started pacing, though he didn't make it very far before having to turn around due to the limited amount of space. Shawn watched his friend walk back and forth enviously.

Now that he had the chance to actually sit down and think about it, the pain had been changing slightly over the past hour. At first, the pain had completely surrounded the lower part of his stomach. Now it was closer to his right side. Though he appreciated that it didn't hurt in as much space, the pain had started to become sharper the smaller the area became.

All in all, he wasn't in a very good position.

A thought seemed to come to Gus, as he suddenly lunged for the elevator controls, poking the call button repeatedly. No light came on and nothing changed. Gus held the button down and leaned down so he was even with the speaker.

"Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?" Gus waited with his hand on the button for a few seconds before eventually letting go with a sigh. "It's not working."

"He must've shut everything down to lock us in here," Shawn sighed. "Or maybe the call button doesn't work when the power's out."

"What would be the point in having it then?" Gus's eyes widened again and he dug for his pocket. "I forgot, I've got my cell phone. We can just call someone that way."

"Um." Shawn looked down at his shoes. "Well, actually your phone's dead."

Gus repeatedly pushed at his power button several times before eventually relenting with a groan. He leaned back against the wall and raised an eyebrow. "Wait, how did you know that?"

"Well, remember when I was playing with it on the way here?"

"Oh no. You did _not _use up all of my battery."

"How would I know that playing bowling on it would use up the power so quickly? The good news is that I finally beat your high score. Well, good news for me."

Gus looked at Shawn disbelievingly before resorting to a glare, which Shawn thought was a little much. Really, Gus should've expected this from him. Car rides, even after a brief stop to throw up, got pretty boring. Besides, how was he supposed to know that they would end up stuck in an elevator and in dire need of a cell phone? That hadn't exactly been in his plan for the day.

"Well, what about your phone?" Gus asked suddenly.

Shawn thought about it. "It's fully charged."

"Great!"

"But it's back at my place," he admitted.

"Shawn!"

"Well, I wasn't really thinking about it this morning! I was too busy trying not to upchuck."

"That worked out well."

"Well, I didn't throw up until _after_ we left, so yeah, it sort of did."

Gus paused in his pacing and turned to Shawn. "How are you feeling now anyway?"

Shawn started to shrug, before the resulting burn across his stomach made him stop. He had already figured out a basic solution to his pain problem: don't move and it wouldn't hurt. It was the not moving part that was giving him difficulty. "It could be worse," he said.

Gus wasn't going to let that pass now though, apparently. "Shawn, stop it. You're sick. We might as well figure out what's wrong. We're not going anywhere."

He sat down cross-legged across from Shawn. "Now, what exactly is wrong?"

xxxxxxxxxxx

Gus took a few moments to think about everything Shawn had revealed. He'd known about most of it but hearing Shawn describe it made Gus wish that he'd taken him to the hospital instead of the apartment building. Especially now that they were possibly going to have to spend anywhere from an hour to several in the elevator.

A slight fever, nausea, and loss of appetite could have meant a million things, but it was the pain that really got Gus thinking.

"It's more in my side now," Shawn clarified. "But it hurts a lot more too. Kind of like being stabbed right there every time I move."

"You're being overdramatic."

"Maybe a little bit," he admitted. "But not really."

Gus wasn't a doctor, though he spent plenty of time around them, not to mention researching different drugs, so he had learned a few things. This, however, was something that Gus had figured out fairly easily. That kind of pain, and the way it was starting to move down towards the right side of Shawn's abdomen, led to one conclusion.

"I think it's appendicitis," Gus said.

Shawn raised his eyebrows. "Like what they give you before your meal at a restaurant?"

"That's an appetizer. Appendicitis is when your appendix is inflamed."

"So, what, am I going to have to start taking pills or something?" Shawn asked. "Am I going to need a shot? Please say no."

"Shawn, they're going to have to remove your appendix. You'll have to go through surgery."

Shawn gaped, which Gus had been expecting. Shawn wasn't a huge fan of hospitals. After all the times he'd had to go because of the frequent injuries he'd acquired over the years, not to mention motorcycle accidents, getting shot and that little amount of poison he'd had to deal with a couple months ago, it wasn't really surprising that Shawn had tried to avoid going to the hospital. A surgery probably wasn't something he'd be looking forward to.

"Why do they have to remove it?" Shawn finally asked, a hint of whining in his voice. "Can't they just give it some medicine and make it all better? Isn't that what doctors do? Nobody wants to remove my brain when I have a headache."

"They've got to take it out. That's how they solve the problem," Gus explained. He didn't want to get into the details of an appendix possibly bursting and all the other complications. This was partly because he only had a limited amount of knowledge about it and partly because it might make Shawn worry. It was definitely making Gus worried.

"So do I get a new one?"

"A new appendix? No. You don't even need the one you have."

"Don't even _need_ one?" Shawn looked appalled. "Then why in the name of Billy Zane do I have one in the first place?" He threw his hands up for barely a second before they descended again with a hiss. Gus was worried for a moment, but Shawn seemed to be fine after a few seconds. "It's got to be there to do something," he muttered.

"Other than make you sick?" Gus chuckled weakly. "It's pretty much just there to fill up space."

"Hm." Shawn looked down at his abdomen. "I would have preferred a second stomach or something instead. It would probably cause a lot less hassle too."

Gus snorted and looked at his watch. "They'll fix the elevator and we'll be out of here in no time. And _then_ we're going to the hospital."

"Sure, sure," Shawn said. "It's just the waiting that I wish we didn't have to deal with."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour later, Gus was starting to agree that waiting wasn't doing very much for them. Gus had never been claustrophobic exactly, but anyone who found pleasure in being stuck in a small area doing absolutely nothing for a long period of time was completely insane, in his opinion. He should've just stayed home. What he wouldn't give for a nice day where nothing "exciting" happened except Carissa finding out that her boyfriend was cheating on her with her twin sister _and_ her best friend on his soap opera.

Despite Gus's repeated checks, the call button still wasn't working. The elevator hadn't moved since it's stop. There hadn't been any change at all in their situation.

Except for Shawn. During the past hour, Gus had watched Shawn become more and more uncomfortable. His pain had increased almost exponentially. No matter how much Shawn tried to keep still, the slightest movement made him wince. Even regular breathing seemed to bother him.

"Okay, whoever came up with this whole appendix thing should have their dessert privileges taken away for a couple months," Shawn declared. "Because seriously, this is way too annoying for something that's useless."

"I don't think anyone came up with it. I'm pretty sure it just happened," Gus said.

"Are there any other organs that just spontaneously decide that my body isn't good enough anymore and they have to cause me pain just to get themselves removed? Because if so, I want to get them out now so I don't have to go through this again later."

Gus started to laugh but stopped when he saw the serious look on Shawn's face. He watched Shawn stare down at his stomach for awhile before eventually closing his eyes. His eyes squinted together every couple of minutes whenever he moved something slightly. After a few minutes of stillness, Gus might have thought Shawn had fallen asleep if he didn't know any better. Shawn had a habit of talking in his sleep, not to mention he moved around a lot more.

He was starting to feel a compelling need to keep Shawn talking. And since it was unlikely that Shawn would want to continue with a long conversation about their current predicament, Gus needed to change the subject to something that interested his friend more.

"Do you remember that time in second grade when our class was playing hide-and-seek at recess, and you got stuck behind the teacher's desk?" Gus asked.

He had to hold back a cheer when Shawn opened one of his eyes, looking annoyed. "Stuck? I did not get _stuck _behind Ms. Patton's desk. I _placed _myself there thinking that you wouldn't be able to find me," Shawn clarified. "And I was right, wasn't I? You didn't find me all recess."

"Maybe not, but Ms. Patton found you when you started crying because you couldn't get out," Gus chuckled.

Shawn opened his other eye at this and began to glare halfheartedly at Gus. "I didn't cry," he insisted. "And I didn't get stuck, either. I just didn't want to come out."

"Oh yeah. Sure."

"I didn't!" Shawn said, sounding for all the world like a seven-year-old. "Besides, you still lost that round anyway. You never found Kim Weaver or Cindy Thomas either. They were hiding in the girl's bathroom, and you would never have checked in there. You were still too scared of getting cooties."

"You still remember that?" Gus said, surprised.

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Hasn't it been established that I have a memory like TiVo, Gus? I just record and replay when it suits me. I still remember the time in first grade when you came running out of the bathroom with your pants down, crying about aliens in the stall next to yours. I bring out that memory whenever I'm feeling particularly blue."

"Jeremy Henson was in that stall. He looked like something out of Close Encounters and you know it."

"He did," Shawn admitted. "Especially in that lime-green shirt he wore every day. Did he even have any other clothes?"

"In my nightmares he had a full alien suit on, if that counts."

"…You had dreams about Jeremy Henson?"

"Nightmares, Shawn, nightmares. There's a difference."

"Yeah, whatever." Shawn's eyes started to fall back down again, but just as Gus was sure that he was going to fall back into his previous silence, they opened again. "Thanks, by the way," Shawn said quietly.

"For what?"

"Trying to distract me."

Gus was about to deny it and claim that he'd just been trying to talk, but decided against it. "Did it work?" he asked.

Shawn paused. "Yeah," he said slowly and with the slightest shrug, which told Gus that it hadn't helped as much as he had hoped it would. At least he'd tried.

"Your dad knows we came in here. So he's got to be looking for us," Gus pointed out cheerfully. "And they'll probably figure out we're in the elevator and start trying to get the power back on faster."

"The power should've come back on already," Shawn muttered.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, usually the power's back up in twenty minutes after it goes out," Shawn said. Gus nodded and he continued. "Now it's been like an hour. Obviously, Martin didn't just flip a switch this time, or we'd already be out of here."

"So you're saying that-"

"We're probably going to be in here for a lot longer than we want to be." Shawn closed his eyes again after that. Gus didn't try to stop him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next half hour of quiet made Gus want to scream. The complete silence and stillness from Shawn was rare, not to mention unnerving. Shawn's inability to shut up got them in all kinds of trouble every day, and usually Gus would have given half of his buffalo nickel collection to get him to be quiet for just a little while. Now, though, it was making him worry and driving him nuts.

"Shawn," he whispered. "Shawn!"

"Why are you whispering?" Shawn asked, without opening his eyes.

"Are you okay?"

"Stupid question." Gus waited for Shawn to say anything about his condition, and tried to think of something else to say when he realized that Shawn wasn't going to respond.

"Shawn?" he whispered again.

Shawn opened his eyes. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Just tell me how bad you're feeling. You know, on a scale of 1 to 10."

"10 being the worst?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know, probably a-"

"Shawn? Gus?"

They both jumped, with Shawn hissing right afterward. They looked over to the elevator controls. The call button had lit up and the voice had come from the small intercom.

Gus scrambled to get over to the call button. He pushed down on it and leaned in so close his nose was practically touching the wall. "Juliet?"

"Gus? Oh, thank God, Gus, we've been worried. We had no idea where you guys were. Are you and Shawn alright?" Juliet asked.

Gus looked back around at Shawn, who had his eyes closed again. He was biting his lower lip and the sweat was noticeable on his face. "Not really," he answered.

"Well don't worry," Juliet said, obviously trying to keep the worry out of her own voice. "We managed to get the basic controls back in order, and the power's back on in most of the building, but Martin Price completely disabled the elevator. We're not sure why though."

Gus snorted. "Yeah, that would be Shawn's fault."

"Oh please," Shawn said behind him. "It was probably your fault too, at least partly."

"I didn't even say anything to him."

"Exactly. Maybe you hurt his feelings."

"I think you were the only one hurting feelings-"

"Guys, please," Juliet interrupted. "Gus, is Shawn alright? He sounds pretty quiet," she said worriedly.

"Ah…." Gus looked back to see Shawn carefully shaking his head, his eyes wide. "He's just feeling a little sick today. So, how are you going to get us out of here?"

"We've got a technician working in here right now on getting the elevator up and running again. He isn't sure how long it will take. Do you think you guys can hang in there for a little while longer?" she asked.

Gus turned again and gave Shawn a questioning look. Shawn nodded slowly but Gus still didn't like it.

"Yeah, for a little while. But Juliet?"

"Yes?"

"Hurry."

* * *

Nice job to everyone who guessed appendicitis in the reviews too!

Everything I know about appendicitis I learned from internet research and personal experience. Not _my_ personal experience, because I've never had it, but I do have four friends who have had it (I didn't learn that three of them had had it until after I started writing this, lol) and I talked to all of them about it. A lot of what Shawn goes through is based on what happened to them. Though none of them got stuck in an elevator. *shrugs*

Thanks for all the reviews, guys! They're amazing!

Two chapters left!


	4. Chapter 4

This sucked. Really sucked. Sucked with a capital S and several exclamation points following.

This had to be the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Well, no, that was probably just a little bit overdramatic. Getting shot and stuffed in a trunk had _probably_ been worse. In fact, Shawn was pretty sure that there were plenty of things that were just as bad as append_-whatever-it-was,_ but it was getting hard to think about anything worse than his current condition. It was getting hard to think about anything.

Gus was still talking through the little intercom, though Shawn was doing his best to tune him out. He was doing a pretty good job until he heard his name being shouted at him.

"Shawn, come on!"

He looked up to see Gus watching him with concern and possibly a little annoyance.

"What?" he said.

"You weren't answering me," Gus explained. He had finally left the intercom and had come back to lean against the wall of the elevator. Shawn was starting to get sick of the nervous looks Gus kept sending him. They weren't doing anything for his own confidence.

Gus opened his mouth, probably to ask him how he was doing (again), and Shawn quickly said, "So, what was Jules saying?"

Gus frowned but answered. "Apparently, you were right about Martin Price. Buzz caught him running from the maintenance room after the power went out. They arrested him and sent him down to the station an hour ago."

"Good going McNab," Shawn said appreciatively. He'd have to send Buzz a 'Thanks for Catching the Bad Guy' card. "And what do you mean, 'apparently, I was right'? I'm always right."

"Not on the first guess you're not. You usually accuse at least two innocent people before you find whoever actually did it. Not to mention all the inanimate objects, animals and dead people you usually end up accusing."

Shawn opened his mouth but couldn't argue with that. Gus smiled smugly. _Jerk. _

"Anyway, your dad was looking for us and I guess someone must've guessed that we might be in the elevator. They sent Juliet with one of the repair guys they called in to try and get the intercom working again so she could check whether or not we were here. The guy managed to fix it up and started working on the rest of the elevator controls so they can bring us down."

"Did she say anything about me?" Shawn asked. "Was she worried sick ? Did she call in the cavalry? Are there posters with my face on them spread around the building?"

"She said she's going to find Lassiter and your dad to tell them that she found us."

Shawn frowned slightly. "Oh. Well that's not satisfying at all. You could've lied to me at least."

Silence followed after that, which Gus took full advantage of. "How's your fever?"

"It's a little annoyed with your constant pestering."

"Shawn."

"I'm fine."

Before he could argue, Gus pressed his palm against Shawn's forehead before pulling it back again a few seconds later.

"Your fever doesn't seem to be too much worse anyway," Gus decided.

"Hooray," Shawn said dryly. "Now can we please talk about something else. Or not at all maybe?"

Gus frowned again, but eventually turned away.

The silence made him feel better, at least for a few moments. It was getting way too difficult to concentrate on keeping up a conversation with Gus, keeping his breathing as steady and slow as possible, staying still, and trying to ignore the sporadic pains in his side. Multitasking wasn't exactly his strength. He usually ended up getting focused on one aspect. And right now, everything sort of ended up coming back to the pain.

As much as hospitals annoyed him, being in one would have been pretty nice. He could be comfortable, not to mention unconscious if he was lucky. But no, he was in an elevator, with appendicitis, and he wouldn't be getting out for at least another hour. Shawn wanted to send a call to whoever had planned this particular day out, tell them that it wasn't exactly what he'd been hoping for, and maybe ask for a re-do. Going to an amusement park with Gus for a day, and then maybe a movie with Juliet sounded pretty nice. Or maybe he could….

"Shawn?"

He and Gus both looked up at the sound of Henry's voice. Gus quickly leaned over to the call button and pressed it down. "Hi Mr. Spencer," he said.

"Gus, what did you two say to Martin Price that made him practically _destroy_ the elevator controls?"

Shawn almost laughed but decided against it. Of course his dad would figure out that it had been their fault. "We didn't say anything," Shawn said, trying to speak louder so his dad could hear him. "Bad guys just have a natural aversion to handsome psychics. It's a proven fact, Dad."

"Shawn pretty much accused him to his face of organizing the robberies," Gus added.

"Tattletale," Shawn muttered.

"Shawn, what could you possibly have gained from telling him that? You didn't have any-"

"Yeah, yeah, Gus already gave me the whole 'your interrogating skills really need some work' speech," Shawn said, aggravated.

"What? Speak up, I can barely hear you. Get closer to the mike."

"Um." Gus looked back at him and Shawn shook his head. Gus looked torn for a moment before turning back to the intercom. "Shawn's not feeling very well right now. He just wants to sit back."

"Not feeling well? He's sick?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause on the other end that made Shawn nervous. He wasn't a fan of long pauses from his father. They usually ended with being grounded or, in this decade, yelled at. "How sick?" he eventually asked.

"Not too-"

"_Gus_."

"Well." Gus bit his lip for a moment before saying, very quickly, "I'm not sure, but I think he's got appendicitis."

"Gus!" Shawn groaned. Gus shrugged apologetically and Shawn glared. Admittedly, Henry had never had much trouble getting answers out of Gus, so it shouldn't have surprised him. But he had thought that Gus would've lasted a little longer under the Henry Spencer Interrogation, seeing as his father wasn't even in the room with them.

"Appendi-" Henry blurted. "You've gotta be kidding me."

"Well, like I said, I'm not sure, but all the symptoms fit."

"He's in _that_ much pain right now?"

"For a while now, so if we could keep hurrying up on that whole getting us out of here plan, that would be great, thanks," Shawn spoke up.

"Shawn, what the hell were you thinking coming down here when you're that sick?" Henry demanded. "Why didn't you say something when I called you? Or when you got down here this morning?"

"He was in denial," Gus answered for him.

"Was not," Shawn muttered.

"He might still be in denial," Gus corrected. "Plus he wanted the paycheck from the case. We're kind of broke. Or Shawn is at least."

There was a pause on the other end and Shawn had a strong suspicion that Henry was pinching the bridge of his nose, grinding his teeth, or acting out some other sign of frustration that Shawn had gotten so accustomed to.

"Only _you _could have appendicitis and get trapped in an elevator on the same day," Henry muttered. "Are you sure you're going to be okay until the elevator's fixed?"

"Positive," Shawn replied. "I'll be fine. Gus and I just have to come up with some way to pass the time."

"Alright," Henry sighed. "See you in an hour or so."

Gus let go of the call button and sat back down across from Shawn. "So what are we going to do for an hour?" he asked.

* * *

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth," Shawn answered tiredly.

Gus thought for a moment. "Was the present you got me for my 10th birthday_ really_ stolen by vultures, or did you just forget to buy me one?"

"Neither. I blew all my money on the soundtrack to Footloose for you and ended up keeping it for myself."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Figures."

They had been playing Truth or Dare for what seemed like forever. Shawn's nerves were practically stretched to the breaking point between his boredom, lack of movement, the small space, and the pain. Even Gus was starting to fall asleep. His eyes would droop for a few seconds and his head would dip forward before he jerked himself back up and tried to look like nothing had changed.

"Truth or Dare?" Shawn asked.

'Truth."

"Really? Come on, pick dare. All we've done is truths."

"Yeah, because I can't dare you to_ do_ anything without having to make you move, and there's no way I'm accepting a dare from _you_. I've had too much experience with your dares. I still can't walk by Mrs. Spaulding's house."

"I doubt she still remembers you peeing in her yard. She was an old lady when we were kids. The only things she probably remembers now are where she keeps her oatmeal and the names of her cats."

"You made me _pee_ in her yard. I don't even know why I did it. She still glares at me whenever I see her, Shawn."

Shawn laughed before stopping suddenly with a hand pressed to his side. He bent his head forward a little bit and breathed deeply. "Damn it," he grumbled.

"How bad?"

"Worse than having a porcupine pelted at my stomach like a snowball, but a little better than being attacked there viciously by a rabid raccoon with really sharp claws and teeth."

"So… around a 7?" Gus guessed.

Shawn groaned. "More like an 8.5."

They lapsed back into silence. Gus's eyes closed and his head drooped down for a full five minutes before coming back up again with a sudden jolt. Shawn held back the laughter this time and just smirked slightly.

"So, what now?" Gus mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Want to play 'would you rather'?"

"Sure. Go ahead," Shawn said.

"Alright, would you rather be double-jointed or always win at Twister?"

Shawn raised an eyebrow. "What kind of a question is that? It's double-jointed, obviously. That would probably help me win at Twister anyway."

"Fine, you come up with one," Gus suggested.

"Gladly. Would you rather have Funkytown be the only song you could listen to for the rest of your life, or change your last name to PumpyMcLover?"

Gus shook his head. "I hate you so much. These are almost as bad as your dares. "

"Come on, you have to answer."

"Fine. I pick Funkytown."

"Seriously?"

"There's no way my clients would take me seriously if my name was Burton PumpyMcLover. So yes, I'll take Lipps Inc. over that name. "

Shawn leaned forward, prepared to argue more, before he stopped, falling back. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. His side was burning. Shawn dug his fingernails into his pants legs, hard, for several seconds before his grip lessened as the pain went down again. He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes to see Gus watching him with concern.

" 'm fine," Shawn muttered. Gus nodded slightly and leaned back against the wall.

Neither of them said anything else. They didn't feel like playing anymore.

* * *

Shawn was starting to have flashbacks to when he and Gus were in middle school and had to serve detention with Mr. Corliss. Shawn had convinced Gus to sneak into the school kitchen with him and try and find the 'good food' that he knew they were 'hiding'. They had found several liters of soda in the fridge, and also managed to swipe the Wendy's burgers that the people working in the kitchen had bought for their own lunch. It was probably the best school lunch they had that year, but they also managed to get two weeks of detention, which Shawn had declared 'cruel and unusual punishment'.

Those two weeks were spent under the watchful eye of Mr. Matthew Corliss. Mr. Corliss was their history teacher, who regularly put Shawn to sleep during class, and was also one of the stricter teachers in the school. During their daily hour of detention after school, he wouldn't let Shawn and Gus speak, get up, do homework or do absolutely anything besides sit in their desks and stare at the walls until four o'clock. It had been the dullest, most mind-numbing thing that Shawn had ever went through.

Now, he was starting to miss it.

Shawn had no idea how long they'd been stuck, and wasn't in the mood to check his watch or ask Gus. Forever seemed like a close guess though. He and Gus had finally given up on conversation. Shawn was spending his time with his eyes closed, trying to keep his breathing steady and trying not to move his body. Every now and again, pain would shoot up from his stomach as he involuntarily moved something. His breathing would hitch, his fingers would claw into the floor or his leg, and he'd wait it out. There was nothing else he _could_ do.

Shawn peaked one eye open every now and again to watch Gus tapping his fingers against the wall. He was stretched out almost completely along the floor of the elevator. Sometimes, he'd look over at Shawn for a little while forlornly, then return to staring at the ceiling, the floor, or most often, the doors. He seemed to want to open them with his mind. Maybe Gus had been watching too much Star Trek. Or maybe he was just being hopeful.

"Spencer? Guster? Is this thing working?"

Gus practically lunged for the call button at the sound. "Lassiter? What's taking so long?"

"Oh, hold your horses, Guster," Lassiter said. He sounded like he'd been hassled a lot that day. "There are men working hard out here to try and get you two out of this mess you've made. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get an elevator running after it's control wiring has been completely dismantled?"

"No, and at this point, I don't really care. Can you just get us out of here?" Gus said snappily. Lassiter didn't say anything, either because of annoyance or surprise. "Please?" Gus added as an afterthought.

"Hmph." Lassiter muttered something to someone in the room with him before speaking to them again. "You've got another five minutes or so while they do another quick check in here, but it's pretty much fixed." Gus breathed a sigh of relief, and Shawn almost joined him. They wouldn't have to stay in there for much longer.

"So, how sick is Spencer, really?" Lassiter asked. "Is it legitimate, or does he just have a cough and a tummy ache?"

Gus's eyebrows narrowed. "He's sick. We need to take him to the hospital as soon as we get out of here before his appendix bursts. If it is appendicitis, anyway."

If it wasn't appendicitis, Shawn wanted to know what other disease he could possibly have that caused this kind of-

Wait a second. Did Gus say-

"_Bursts_? Gus, did you just say bursts?" Shawn croaked. "Like, my stomach's going to blow up?"

"Your appendix, not your stomach," Gus corrected. "And it doesn't blow up, it just…well yeah, it kind of blows up. But you'll be fine, Shawn."

"Not if I blow up!" Shawn protested weakly. "I was born with a bomb in my intestines. That is so not fair, even if it _is_ kind of cool."

"You're not going to blow up, Shawn. It's just going to burst if they don't remove-"

"Are you two finished bickering?" Lassiter interrupted.

"Lassie, can we get this thing running again before I _burst_? I'm sure Gus doesn't want to see my insides all over the walls," Shawn said.

"Hm. Your father's right, you don't sound good," Lassiter mused. Shawn heard someone who sounded suspiciously like Juliet on the other end saying something to Lassiter. He thought he caught the word 'ambulance'.

"We can drive him to the hospital just as fast," he heard Lassiter argue. "Guster, is he going to need paramedics here immediately, or can he wait?"

Gus looked back at him carefully. Shawn gave a weak smile, which he knew had to look like a grimace.

"I can make it," Shawn said.

"We'll just drive him," Gus said. "But taking a police car would probably be a good idea."

"I can drive him," Lassiter and Juliet (who had apparently gotten closer to the microphone) said together.

"Fine, she can," Lassiter amended quickly. Shawn smiled. The detective was probably blushing for volunteering to drive one of his least favorite people (or so he claimed) to the hospital.

"Your car would probably be better, there's more space," Juliet pointed out. "How are you doing, Shawn?" she asked worriedly.

Shawn was ready to nobly declare that he was a trooper and could handle a little thing like a stomachache, even though he probably just would have ended up groaning instead, when he faintly heard someone speaking to the detectives on the other end. At the same time, the emergency light was replaced by the normally bright light of the elevator.

"Finally," Juliet sighed. "Shawn, Gus, they're going to send the elevator down now. Get ready, because it might be a little surprising when it-"

Her warning was cut short with Lassiter shouting, "Hold on!" Before Shawn could figure out if he was shouting at the technician or them, the elevator started to drop. Quickly.

Gus screamed. To be honest, Shawn probably did too. He saw Gus clutch at the handrail before Shawn was pinching his eyes shut. The jarring stop that the elevator performed a second later threw him forward.

Shawn definitely screamed that time, curling up into the fetal position and holding his side. It was the most he'd moved in nearly two hours and it did _not_ feel good. He almost opened his eyes to check whether or not his stomach was bleeding or on fire, because there was no way that it could feel _this bad_ and still look normal. He waited until the blood stopped pounding in his ears and he could actually hear again.

"Damn it, watch the wiring!" Lassiter was shouting at someone. "You're not trying to slam the goddamn elevator into the ground!"

"Shawn?" Gus asked quietly. "Shawn? Are you-"

Shawn shook his head lightly, just barely moving his neck.

"Does it feel like it burst?"

Shawn shook his head again. "Just hurts," he muttered. "Can we just go down? Please?"

He heard Gus speaking quietly with Lassiter and Juliet through the microphone. He just concentrated on breathing. Slowly, the pain faded again until it was the dull ache that he had become so used to. He knew moving back against the wall wouldn't hurt as much as coming away from it had, but he didn't want to risk it.

Gus crawled back over next to him. "They're going to start bringing us down again. Lassiter says they fixed it and that it's going to work this time. Juliet's going to meet us downstairs with your dad."

"Lassiter better be right," Shawn said quietly.

"Of course I am."

"How did he even hear that?" Shawn whispered.

The elevator dropped again and Shawn tensed, but it was much slower now, going down at normal speed. He released a breath he'd been holding and smiled.

"I was just starting to like it in here," Shawn said. Gus snorted but he was already standing by the door, bouncing up and down on his toes, obviously ready to get out of the elevator as fast as he could.

The elevator came to a slow, steady halt which barely moved Shawn. He winced once but managed to pull himself together as the doors opened, revealing Juliet, Henry, and a group of police officers, all looking very concerned. Shawn smiled weakly at them.

"If you'll excuse me ladies and gentleman, I need to go have an organ removed."

* * *

A/N: So, huh. One of my new year's resolutions this year was to finish up my unfinished fics, primarily this one. I am so sorry for the wait for this you guys, this was just plain unreasonable. However, this was always only going to be a five part story, so I can promise you that the last chapter of this will be up SOON. Like within a few days and definitely within a week. And that is an absolute promise, you can hold me to it.


	5. Chapter 5

"Gus, toss me the chips," Shawn called across the office.

Gus didn't even bother looking up from his laptop. "Come and get them yourself."

"You know I'm not supposed to move. Doctor's orders. You wouldn't want me to hurt myself, would you?" Shawn pouted.

Gus rolled his eyes and threw the chip bag to where Shawn lay sprawled out on the couch. "If you're still _healing_ you should probably be eating something healthier or less solid. Doritos aren't exactly part of your daily dietary needs."

"Exactly. I haven't eaten any Doritos in days," Shawn pointed out, reaching into the bag. "My taste buds have been craving Cool Ranch deliciousness and I feel that they should be given justice."

Shawn had been out of the hospital for four days. Gus still wasn't sure how they'd managed to get Shawn from the Price building to the hospital in such a short amount of time. They'd quickly discovered after the elevator had landed that Shawn couldn't get up without doubling over in pain and crying out. Gus had spent the next few minutes panicking rather loudly (and probably getting on the nerves of nearly everyone there), while also trying to keep Shawn as calm as possible, a combination of actions that had been rather difficult to handle. Finally, he and the Detectives had managed to very carefully half-carry Shawn over to Lassiter's car.

After being poked and prodded at the hospital for nearly two hours, and after blood and urine tests (Shawn had complained very loudly about both of these) and an abdominal ultrasound ("An ultrasound? Doc, I know I didn't go to med school, but I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant."), the doctors had finally returned with their diagnosis. Appendicitis.

"Never would have figured that out," Gus had muttered bitterly.

"Can we just take it out already?" Shawn and Henry had both asked.

Shawn had been swiftly shipped off for surgery, and his appendectomy thankfully went off without a hitch, though Shawn had argued with a doctor (and his father) for a while about not being able to keep the appendix afterwards. He spent the recommended day in the hospital, driving the nurses crazy by constantly trying to get up and move around. The doctors were concerned he was going to rip his stitches, but Shawn had promised to be careful.

"I'm just sick of staying still," Shawn had explained, and nobody had argued with him too much after that.

The hospital wanted to keep him for another day, just to be safe, but after the three failed escape attempts that followed, along with promises from Henry, Gus and Juliet to keep an eye on Shawn after they took him home, they changed their minds. Shawn had complained loudly about not needing a babysitter. They all ignored him.

"I don't know why you wanted to come into the office today if you can't do any work," Gus said. He raised an eyebrow as Shawn flipped through TV channels aimlessly.

"It's better than being stuck in my apartment all day. Or my dad's place," Shawn replied, shrugging.

He carefully got up off the couch, bracing himself on the table as he stood. Gus watched, ready to get up and help him, as he walked slowly over to his desk, grabbed the copy of the newspaper they'd picked up that morning, and returned back to the couch.

"What happened to 'I'm not supposed to move'?" Gus complained. He clipped his laptop shut and walked over to sit in a chair across from Shawn, reaching for the remote and the bag of chips.

"Only strenuous activity, Gus," Shawn corrected. "Your desk is a lot farther away than mine is. Going all the way over to get the chips would have been far too risky. I wouldn't want to rip my stitches. "

"Uh huh." Gus started flipping through TV channels, eventually leaving it on a rerun of the Golden Girls while Shawn looked through the paper."How's your stomach?"

"Fine," Shawn answered truthfully. "Barely even hurts. It's just a little sore, but not like how it was."

"I bet there's going to be a scar though."

"And that's a problem?" Shawn laughed. "I wonder if Juliet will think it's sexy."

"Oh sure," he snorted. "Belly button scars are totally sexy."

"You're just jealous you don't have a war wound like I do."

Gus shook his head, but didn't bother arguing. It was quiet for a while (aside from the steady laugh track and Estelle Getty's biting wit on the TV), until:

"Unbelievable!" Shawn practically shouted.

Gus jumped. "What?" Shawn didn't reply for a moment, just staring at his newspaper in shock. "Shawn, what?"

"They've got an article in here about the Price robberies and I'm not mentioned _at all_!"

Gus exhaled in relief. He should've known it wasn't something serious. "You didn't solve the case. And Buzz is the one who made the arrest," he said.

"I _so_ solved the case!" Shawn exclaimed. "I figured it out and everything! I even got paid for it. And I would've made the big reveal too, except-"

"Except you were sick and trapped in an elevator. And your dad only gave you that check so we could pay off bills and so you would stop complaining. Give it up, Shawn. You can't win all the cases."

"But I did win! Dude, do you know how much publicity we would've gotten for solving the Price robberies? We would have customers coming in crowds! You would have enough money to buy a new pair of tap shoes and probably a lifetime supply of M&M's."

Gus smiled. "Well I guess this is a good lesson for you, Shawn."

"What? Keep my body parts in check so they don't cause me pain at the worst possible time?"

"No." Gus's grin broadened. He'd been waiting to use this line for days. "Next time," he said, "take the stairs."

Shawn snorted and threw the empty chip bag at him.

* * *

A/N: And that's a wrap, folks! Just a short little epilogue to tie everything together. Thank you all so, so much for the reviews, and once again, I'm really sorry about the long wait on these final two chapters!

I hope you enjoyed it, because I know I did! :D


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